


The thing is

by Lenore



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF
Genre: Adam Lambert - Freeform, Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-06
Updated: 2009-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the AMA kiss, Tommy has an identity crisis. Angry sex is the solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The thing is

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by [this](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/2407.html?thread=1341543#t1341543) prompt at [](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/profile)[**aianonlovefest**](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/) asking for Tommy being pissed about the AMA kiss, which ends in angry sex. I consider this an AU, because I'm pretty sure Tommy loved every moment of that kiss! (And I love that about him!)What I don't love is people tweeting or otherwise delivering my stories to the people I'm writing about. Just the thought of it makes me die a little inside. So please don't do it! Also, there is actually explicit consent in this story, but there's a moment or two that may make people uncomfortable so I've tagged it and I'm warning here for dubious consent.

The thing is, Tommy said what he said. _You can grab me and stuff if you want, you can do whatever you want, man._ Sure. That's what he _said_. Sex sells and Tommy is ready to be something more than the nameless guy off to the side playing bass. Not that he's using Adam. Or at least, he's not using Adam any more than Adam is using him. Whatever. The point is: Adam was supposed to know what he _meant_. Adam was supposed to understand. Just rile people up a little, get the tabloids talking. No such thing as bad publicity, right?

A harmless game. It's not supposed to make Tommy _question_ anything.

He doesn't even see it coming. They didn't rehearse it, and Tommy sure as hell doesn't expect Adam to grab him and bend him back like he's some fucking damsel in an old movie and shove his tongue down his throat on national television. Tommy's knees fail him. His cock surges painfully against his zipper. And sure, Tommy said. But Adam was supposed to _know_.

He wasn't supposed to make Tommy _like_ it.

They're all laughing as they leave the stage, the dancers and the band and Adam, because they just played the fucking AMAs, and that is some seriously awesome shit. Tommy joins in, but his throat is tight, and the sound comes out too high and brittle.

Adam slings an arm around his shoulders. "Not bad for our first go on the big stage, huh, baby?"

He's enormous, towering over Tommy, and he radiates heat. He smells like man-sweat and hair products, which shouldn't smell good, but apparently Adam never got that memo. Tommy feels a little dizzy breathing him in. Adam's suit leaves a trail of glitter on whatever it touches. Fucking stuff goes everywhere, and Tommy will probably be finding it on his skin days later. His cock takes an interest in that, in the notion of something that's touched Adam's body touching him. He mouth goes even dryer.

"Yeah. Not bad." Tommy slips out from under Adam's arm. "I've got to—" He gestures vaguely toward the dressing room and flees.

He slams the door behind him and says a mental thank you that it's empty. His bandmates are off rubbing shoulders with the rich and well-connected. Adam has his own dressing room down the hall, something Tommy is profoundly grateful for at the moment, although earlier he'd been slightly disappointed. Adam has no modesty to speak of, and he tends to strip for costume changes wherever he happens to be standing. Tommy has gotten more than a few glimpses of Adam skin. Bare, freckled shoulders. The long expanse of thigh. Round curve of ass. Never his cock, though. Although, really, Adam's pants leave little to the imagination...

Fuck. Since when does he speculate about other guys' cocks? He shakes his head, as if that will clear away the thoughts.

_I'm just fucked up on adrenaline_, he tells himself.

A knock comes at the door, and before Tommy can shout, "Go away," Adam has let himself in.

"Hey," he says, eyeing Tommy like he's a problem that needs to be solved.

"What is it?" Tommy asks in a clipped voice.

"You tell me." The corner of Adam's mouth turns up in a puzzled half smile. "What's wrong, baby boy?"

"Don't call me that," Tommy snaps. "I'm older than you are."

Adam tilts his head, studying Tommy, and at last he concludes the obvious. "You're pissed."

Tommy glares at him. "Damn right I'm pissed! You sucked my fucking face off on national fucking television!"

Adam raises an eyebrow quizzically. "Did you not tell me I could do whatever I want? Or," he waves his hand airily, "did I just hallucinate that?"

Heat rushes into Tommy's cheeks, and anger makes him run off at the mouth. "That was for the video! Not for the rest of my fucking life. I don't care if you are the next hot shit. You don't fucking own me. I'm not your fucking sex toy."

He doesn't even know what he's saying. Adam has never thrown around his celebrity, and anyway, he's Tommy's _boss_. He could kick Tommy out of the band with a snap of his fingers, and that's the worst fucking thing Tommy can imagine. If he wasn't totally batshit flipping out right now, he'd mumble a hasty "sorry," but he is totally batshit flipping out. So he just stands there breathing hard and heavy.

Adam doesn't yell back or even look particularly angry. If anything, his expression is thoughtful. "So, is that the problem? I've overstepped my bounds?" He comes closer. "Or is this the problem?" Adam looms over him, big and gorgeous, and before Tommy can even blink, Adam is sliding a hand between his legs, squeezing his still-hard dick through his pants.

Tommy sucks in a startled breath. Excitement shoots electric-hot down his spine. His dick leaps to attention. This pisses him off even more. He grits his teeth. "What part of 'not your sex toy' do you not understand?"

Adam's eyes spark with amusement. "What part don't you understand, baby?" He presses his thumb against the head of Tommy's dick, making him cry out in surprise. "I don't think 'no' means what you think it does, sweet boy."

Tommy isn't fist-happy by nature, but fuck Adam and his seductive fucking bullshit anyway. He draws his hand back, the punch ready to fly, but Adam sees it coming and catches him by the wrist. Tommy would have pegged Adam as more of a lover than a fighter, but apparently if provoked enough, Adam is perfectly capable of going all schoolyard on your ass. He twists Tommy's arm behind his back and pushes him face-first against the dressing table. Makeup goes flying, kicking up a dusty cloud of face powder. Tommy hits the edge of the table hard. He'll have one hell of a bruise on his hip come morning. Adam plasters himself to Tommy's back, and Tommy can feel Adam's dick, hot and hard, snugged up against his ass.

A picture flashes through Tommy's head: Adam peeling the pants off him, pushing his legs apart, putting his dick in him, making him scream, making him moan and whimper and beg, "No, no," like he doesn't have a choice. Like he hasn't wanted to spread his legs for Adam since the first time he laid eyes on him.

Adam shoves his hips forward, as if he's trying to fuck Tommy through layers of leather and glitter. His breath comes hot and moist against the back of Tommy's neck. His lips brush Tommy's ear, making him shiver. "Yeah, that might make it easier for you, huh, baby? If this was all about what I want. But some things shouldn't be easy. And this is going to be so much better when you're begging me for it."

He takes a step back, and the sudden loss of heat gives Tommy goose flesh everywhere.

"Take off your clothes," Adam says, sounding nothing like the guy who cheerfully chats with interviewers about nail polish and hair products.

He sounds like a man who must be obeyed or else.

And this is the thing. _This_, right here, Tommy thinks, as his shaking hands move to the hem of his shirt. He doesn't fucking take orders. He's not some spank-me, own-me submissive little twink, despite what people assume from his looks. So he really has no explanation for why he's doing Adam's bidding like he's fucking compelled, working his pants down over his hips and kicking them off, his cock bouncing against his thigh.

Adam doesn't make a move, doesn't say a word. He just watches, his gaze moving over Tommy's body as sensually as hands. Tommy feels the flush creeping up his chest. His cock gets harder.

He pivots awkwardly to face the table again, braces himself on his hands, and pushes out his ass, offering himself up like he really is Adam's plaything. Adam runs his palm slowly, so slowly down Tommy's back. Tommy bites his lip.

"Nice." Adam strokes the curve of Tommy's ass. "Very nice. But no. Not like this." He turns Tommy around by the shoulder and hoists him up onto the table. More makeup goes clattering to the floor. Adam makes a place for himself between Tommy's widely splayed thighs. "I want to see your face when you come on my cock."

"Shit!" The word flies out of Tommy's mouth.

Adam smiles, and it's a not a very nice smile. He pours something into his hand—Tommy doesn't see what it is and, hey, he probably doesn't want to know—and then there are slick, sticky fingers pushing into him.

"You've been begging for this since I met you," Adam says thickly, "and I'm going to give it to you, baby."

Adam's touch is quick and rough, fingers twisting, stretching Tommy open. He cups the back of Tommy's neck and covers his mouth with his own, taking, commanding, just like out on stage, stealing the air right out of Tommy's lungs.

"Please," Tommy says shakily.

Adam cants Tommy's hips up, and Tommy falls back against the mirror, the glass cold and smooth on his bare skin. Adam doesn't bother to undress himself. He just undoes his pants and pushes them down over his hips. A condom materializes from somewhere, and he rolls it on. Maybe Tommy shouldn't find that hot—the idea that Adam is fully armed and ready to fuck, even when he's just come off stage—but what the hell, he's only human. He spreads his legs wider.

"Just one thing, baby." Adam teases his fingers along the inside of Tommy's thigh. "You've got to tell me what you want."

Tommy is splayed open, his belly a mess of pre-come, hair gel or some shit dripping out of his ass. He really thinks what he wants is perfectly obviously.

"Don't be a fucking asshole," he tells Adam.

Adam rubs his thumb along the crease of Tommy's thigh, smiling this little smile, as if twisting Tommy's self-identity in knots is the most fun a guy can have without actually fucking.

"I want you to do me, okay?" Tommy shouts in exasperation. "I want you to put it in me and fuck me, you fucking asshole."

Adam's smile grows wider. "I can do that for you, baby."

And he does, one stroke, and he's inside.

Tommy's head falls back, knocking against the glass. Adam is fucking _huge_, and Tommy's body is burning, burning, stretched to the breaking point. He tries to take a breath, but his lungs don't know how to work.

"God," Adam moans. "You're a fucking tight little virgin."

"Fuck you!"

Adam laughs, the sound low and throaty. "Oh no, baby. That's all for you." He pulls out and pushes back in.

Tommy's thighs tremble, and he scrabbles at Adam's shoulders, trying to hold on.

"Come on, baby. Take it." Adam fucks into Tommy, his mouth hot and greedy on Tommy's neck, his black-painted nails raking over his nipples.

A wild noise spills out of Tommy, and he grabs at Adam's hair, getting handfuls of what feels like shellac. Adam thrusts into him, and, fuck, it burns, but the pain is electric hot, so good, so good. Sweat beads on Tommy's forehead and drips down his chest. He winds his legs around Adam's waist and arches up, pushing his mouth onto Adam's, kissing frantically.

"Look, baby," Adam says against his lips.

Tommy cranes his neck. His chest practically glows with glitter from Adam's suit, and his cock strains desperately, red and wet at the tip. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of their bodies joined together, Adam's thick dick stretching him open, thrusting in and out of him.

"Fuck!" he cries out, as Adam hits that lightning-hot place inside him, again and again. "Oh, God. _Adam_."

And sure. Tommy said what he said. _You can do whatever you want._ But fuck, this is what he _meant_, isn't it? He grabs for his cock, frantically jerking himself. Adam slides his hands beneath Tommy's ass and pulls him up into every thrust, pounding into him.

Tommy babbles, "Fuck me, shit, fuck me," and he comes all over them both. His body seizes around Adam's cock so hard it hurts.

"Fuck, Tommy," Adam gasps and comes deep inside him.

They stay clasped together afterward. Tommy's lungs burn. The glitter suit is a total loss, Tommy's come splattered all over it. Heat starts to creep up Tommy's cheeks at the thought of some of the things he said to Adam. "'m sorry." He buries his face against Adam's shoulder.

Adam strokes a hand over his hair. "I think maybe that's supposed to be my line?" He touches Tommy's face. "I'm really not trying to fuck you up."

Tommy rubs his cheek against Adam's palm, playfully bites his thumb.

Adam's mouth tilts into a smile. "I'm guessing we're okay then?"

Tommy nods. "Except for one thing. Could you get your huge fucking dick out of my ass?"

Adam laughs. "Hold on, baby."

It doesn't hurt quite as much coming out as it did going in, but it's a close thing. Adam ditches the condom and makes an effort at cleaning the sparkly come off Tommy's belly.

"Glitter baby," he says with a flash of mischief in his eyes.

Tommy laughs, catches Adam by the jaw and kisses him. He wonders if having Adam's tongue in his mouth is always going to make him as weak in the knees as it does now. He kind of hopes so. Adam runs a hand down his back, cups the curve of his ass. Heat twists in Tommy's belly. He suspects he'll be spreading his legs for Adam again before the night is over.

And he's okay with that. He really, really is.

Tommy crams his sticky self back into his clothes. Adam does what he can to make the glitter suit look a little less like Tommy just came all over it, but really, it's beyond all hope.

He slings an arm over Tommy's shoulders. "Let's get out of here, huh?"

Tommy nods, and probably he should just keep his mouth shut, but for whatever reason, he feels the need to explain. "I just—" His voice goes small. "I wasn't supposed to like it, you know? I wasn't supposed to want you."

Adam nods thoughtfully. "I don't know if it makes a difference but--" He leans in, and his lips brush Tommy's ear. "You can totally have me."

Tommy breaks into a smile. Who knows how he'll feel later, but for right now, that makes all the fucking difference.


End file.
